Faded Jeans
by waiting.for.summer
Summary: After rescue from being buried alive, Nick has some trouble moving past the nightmares. Please read and review.


AN: I've been working on Vartann's Memories, but have had a hard time moving forward since I've had little input, positive or negative on the story. Help a girl out please! (Thanks for the two reviewers out there. You are keeping me accountable!) This piece of fluff was pushing itself into my brain as I woke up this morning, so I decided to get myself back to the word processor, as opposed to doing internet research for the year 1850. (Gotta do the research, it's the teacher in me. LOL)

As always, Don't own 'em, just love 'em.*

* * *

"NO!"

Warrick heard the scream and hurried to Nick's bedroom. The frantic, disheveled man was struggling with his bedding and breathing heavily. Eye movements told his friend that Nick was having a nightmare and he moved onto the bed to wake the trembling man, wishing that the hateful memories would disappear with the remnants of the terror-filled dream.

"Come on, Nick. Wake up. You're safe. You're in your own bed. I'm here for you," crooned the dark skinned man over and over while alternating his touch from Nick's shoulder to his face.

The voice finally penetrated Nick's fear addled senses and he struggled to wake up. "'Rick?" his voice coming out in a hopeful whisper.

"Yeah, Nick. You're home. It's okay, buddy." He helped Nick into a sitting position on the side of the bed, pushing the offending bedding towards the foot. "It's just a nightmare, Nick. You're safe now."

"I don't think I'll ever feel safe again, man."

Warrick placed a hand on his shoulder and massaged it gently, as if easing the fears of a child. "It will get better, but it may take some time. Your friends are here for you, Nick. We will see you through this. It could have been any one of us in that box. You just drew the short straw. We all know that and we are going to be here as long as you need us."

"Thanks, 'Rick, but you don't have to do that. I'll be fine. Nightmares can't hurt me." The brown eyes closed and Nick's chin dropped to his chest. "Why don't you……" He stopped at the sound of a knock coming from his front door.

"I'll get it, buddy, just stay here. It's probably Catherine. She said she'd stop by so that I could run home for a bit. Is there anything I can pick you up while I'm out?" Warrick rose to his feet, but stood there awaiting an answer, his green eyes searching for a solution, but not finding one.

Nick's shoulders shrugged. "I'm fine. Go take care of things. I'll be fine. I don't need anything."

"Okay then. I'll be back later. If you're sure you don't need anything…." Another knock was heard from the front door. "Later, Nick."

The tall man walked to the bedroom door and after a long look at his friend crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him.

The body sitting on the bed started to shake and whispered under his breath, "Greg. I just need Greg."

* * *

Warrick opened the front door expecting to see Catherine, but instead Greg was there, leaning against the door frame. "Hey, about time. I'm taking Catherine's shift. Lindsey had some kind of teen-age emergency and Cath asked me to fill in."

He moved into the entryway, shrugging off his lightweight jacket and throwing it on the nearest piece of furniture. "How's he doing, Warrick?"

Warrick rubbed his face and shook his head. "Not so good, Greg. He just woke up from a nightmare, could use a friend right now, but he'll probably tell you otherwise. I'm outta here. I need a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. I'll be back later."

"No, stay home, man. I got some solid hours before coming over here and I have tonight off. I can stay until my next shift if need be. Tell everyone to take a breather. I'll call if there's a problem." He pushed Warrick towards the door. "Get out of here so that I can go check on him."

"Thanks, Greg, I'll pass along the information." He opened the door and exited into the sunshine, blinking his eyes at the brightness. God the sun feels good, he thought.

* * *

Greg walked down the short hallway and paused at the bedroom doorway with his hand on the doorknob. He heard a choked sob and quickly opened the door, rushing across the room. The ex-labrat took in the figure sitting on the edge of the bed, slumped forward, hands clenched on his knees.

The smaller man knelt on the floor between the splayed knees and moved into the larger man's personal space. He placed one hand on a clenched fist to his side and his other on the cheek of the broken man sitting before him.

"Nick. It's okay. Tell me what I can do to help make this better. Can I make you some breakfast? Nick?"

Greg kept his eyes on the dark head bowed before him and was glad to see it finally lift and those watery brown eyes to make contact with his. "Greg."

"Yeah, you got me here, Nick. How about some pancakes, maybe French toast? I can see what you've got in the kitchen."

"Greg?" The young man heard the question and in a heartbeat felt the cheek against his hand turn slightly, warm lips soft against his palm. He couldn't move, couldn't take his eyes off those of the man in front of him. Felt the lips move again as his breath hitched.

"Greg?" Nick was torn. Here was the object of his desire who was only trying to offer comfort and all he wanted to do was pull him into his arms, under his body….

He was stealing himself to lift his head away from the warm hand when he felt Greg's thumb slide along his lower lip. Nick's heart leapt at the movement and quickly reacted to the motion by opening his lips and pulling the digit into his warm mouth.

He watched Greg's face as his thumb disappeared into the wet cavern. Nick saw the dark eyes widen and the soft, pink lips open slightly, forming a perfect oval. He swirled his tongue along Greg's thumb, alternating the motion with suction.

"Nick," he groaned. This shouldn't be happening. His extremely straight friend was giving him signals that couldn't possibly be correct. Nick Stokes may be a flirt, but he had never given Greg any reason to believe that he could ever be physically interested in a male-male sexual relationship.

He lifted the hand that had been resting on Nick's, thinking he should move away from the hurting man, but not wanting to lose the contact he had wanted for so long. Greg's movement spurred the older man to reach out with his now free hand towards the kneeling man, cupping his cheek and tracing the oval shape of his lips with his thumb.

Before it could go any further, Greg started to protest, "You don't want this Nick. You don't realize….."

A sob erupted from the man before him and Greg's thumb was released. "Only you, G. I know who you are, but if you don't feel…."

A strangled laugh came from the kneeling man. "Are you sure, Nick? 'Cause I don't want to take this anywhere you're gonna regret later. I've waited too long for this to be a mistake."

Nick placed his hands on Greg's shoulders and pulled the man closer to his body. He trailed a hand up his neck and into his hair, carding his fingers through the untidy mess. "How long, Greg? How much time have we wasted?"

Greg closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his head on the chest of the man before him. "Too long, Nick. Too long. Ever since I met you." He pulled away and with a wry smile looked at the face he has loved since he first laid eyes on it. "That's not too stalker-ish, is it?"

Nick gazed at the man before him and smiled as he continued to caress his face and soft hair. "The term stalker doesn't apply when you're hoping the feeling is reciprocated, G. That first day, you wore a black Marilyn Manson tee-shirt, with faded blue jeans that hugged your ass like a second skin. I hid out in the men's room for half an hour trying to get myself under control."

The younger man chuckled. "You wore a black tee that looked as if it had been shrunk in the wash. I wanted to rip it off and see if all the hard ridges underneath it were real, or if it was just my imagination working overtime."

"So much wasted time, G. I don't want to waste any more. I want to taste you, is that okay?" His gaze was focused on Greg's lips, his own parting in anticipation.

"Oh god, please."

Nick bent his head and traced the contours of Greg's lips with his tongue, smiling internally when those lips opened greedily and his tongue was attacked with heated precision. He felt the smaller man's hands move to his thighs and felt pressure as Greg levered himself up off his knees moving into Nick and pushing him down onto the bed.

Straddling the Texan, Greg leaned forward ghosting his hands over the reclining man's torso and up to his face. He gasped as the older man's hands moved down his back and cradled his buttocks. "Nick…"

* * *

Nick strode into CSI headquarters ten minutes early for his first shift back after being buried alive. He made himself move without hesitation, even though the trepidation he felt was almost palpable. He had talked to Grissom a few days earlier and knew that he would not have to work a crime scene alone until he was ready, but still the fear was there just bubbling under the surface.

He moved toward the locker room to get ready for his shift and when he made it to the doorway stopped still at the sight that met his eyes. Greg was already there bent over tying his shoelaces. Nick's mouthed dried up at the sight. The younger man was wearing those faded jeans that cupped his rear so well. More than five years later and those jeans, even more threadbare than before, still had the ability to stop him in his tracks.

Greg finally realized that someone was standing behind him and turned his head toward the doorway. His eyes saw the dark haired man and realized his dark gaze was focused on his own jean clad derriere. With smile he stood and turned toward the other man, displaying his chest with the movement. The black Marilyn Manson tee-shirt that had been retired for a more conservative look was back, as was the gravity defying hair that had been tamer in the past couple of years.

"Hey, Nick. I like your black tee-shirt."

* * *

Okay? or just plain drivel?


End file.
